


Howl

by adoxyinherear



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29828850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoxyinherear/pseuds/adoxyinherear
Summary: “I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events.”Power, intrigue, danger, and sex, he says. Solas delivers.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	Howl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juliafied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliafied/gifts).



**Power**

Lavellan hadn’t imagined that her activities at Halamshiral would involve scaling a garden wall, but she was grateful for Dorian’s theatrics as a distraction. Her uniform wasn’t suited to the exercise. Or any exercise, if Solas’ efforts to peel it off of her after her first fitting were any indication.

“I suppose Lady Montilyet wishes to present a unified front,” he’d murmured, tongue circling the shell of her ear even as his fingers were at her collar, unbuttoning. “But to hide your form in such ill-fitting wool will do nothing for the Inquisition’s diplomatic efforts.”

“Are you suggesting I show my ass to the Empress?”

A hand had slipped inside her coat, hot through the cool linen. Tweaked her nipple.

“Figuratively, perhaps. I believe she would appreciate your wit,” he’d said, fingers trailing down her stomach. “Though she deserves neither your conversation nor your... ass.”

Lavallen sighed as she remembered the squeeze he’d given her, the way they’d laughed at the needlessly complex arrangement of buttons that required undoing before her pants could be removed. 

Squatting to pick a lock, she was grateful she’d had that particular feature of the uniform modified.

  
  


**Intrigue**

Trapped in Duchess Florianne’s arms and doing her level best not to stuff her fist into the insufferable woman’s mouth, Lavellan couldn’t say she hated the game, not entirely. Not when as she turned on the dance floor, as she tasted the sweetness of the wine she’d drunk on her lips, she could see Solas above with the other onlookers. He could not hear the barbs she traded with the Orlesian woman but she felt his attention, sharp and curious. 

While the court might’ve wondered and whispered over the attentions the Duchess paid to an elf, even if she was the Inquisitor, Solas’ gaze was heavy, velvet-dark. He knew as well as Lavellan did that the night had to go well, that it had to go a particular _kind_ of well, if Josephine was to be believed. Still Lavellan would rather have scorned them all to have Solas’ palm, hot and steady and strong, against her waist, to lean close and smell him - book-musk and green wilderness - instead of the overpowering scent of Orlesian perfume. 

Lavellan caught his eye as she stepped deftly right with the Duchess on her left, noted his hands braced against the balcony’s railing, knuckles tight. Solas knew that she could handle herself. It wasn’t that he wasn’t worried.

He hungered.

It felt like an age before she’d played out whatever round of the game she was currently in, a spectacle buttoned-up in military wool next to the Duchess’ elegant ball gown, and could ascend the stairs again and escape. Lavellan longed for her bow or even a pair of knives - something to cling to, something soft to drive into. 

To be driven into, would be better.

Solas waited in the shadows near the trophy room, his eyes an invitation she was too eager to accept.

“The Duchess is a viper,” he observed, maintaining a little distance between them as they walked deeper into the empty chamber. “Others here do a better job of hiding their fangs.”

“And some of us are fangless,” Lavellen murmured. She enjoyed indulging in word play with Solas, even if it wasn’t her favorite game to play with him. 

Solas crowded Lavellan against the wall, her head level with a painting of a leering Orlesian noblewoman who looked like she’d have had something to say about public liaisons.

“You did very well, with the Duchess,” he murmured, tasting the soft skin just beneath her jaw. Her breath caught and Solas pressed two fingers to her lips. “But silence would be better now, vhenan.”

What little skin he could access he lavished attention on, movements more furtive than she was used to. In her chambers at Skyhold or camped in the wilds, they took their time. But here, with only a moment before she was again wanted…

“You are mistaken about who is predator and who is prey,” Solas said softly, cupping a hand between her legs and kneading the heat there. Lavellan’s breath hitched at the contact. “A snake in the wild has many enemies. The fox and the coyote. The wild boar. Even a wolf will eat a snake.”

“And which am I?” 

“I’ve bedded you, vhenan. You howl.”

  
  


**Danger**

Blood was running down her face from a gash across her forehead and Lavellan scrubbed a glove hand across her eyes, cursing. She fumbled her next arrow as the harlequin spun into cover and Cassandra charged after. 

Lavellan felt the healing touch of Solas’ magic, grateful for the abatement of the throbbing in her head even as she felt the pounding of his staff against the ground near her feet. She turned, meeting his eyes. They didn’t need to speak, and not just because there wasn’t time for it.Their rapport on the battlefield was the same as the wordless language their bodies had developed over months of hesitation, of denial, and finally of blissful giving in. She understood Solas and he her, even if they hadn’t begun that way.

Perhaps because of it, if the frustrated bites she’d delivered to his neck and shoulders were any indication. 

Venatori charged them from all sides now but with her sight restored, Lavellan dispatched three in a row. A fourth rushed her and she tightened her stomach, heaving herself backwards in a flip that defied gravity as a hail of arrows rained down upon the unlucky mage.

She would not be beaten, not today. 

And the only blade she’d yield her flesh to was rather more metaphoric. 

**Sex**

It was over.

Her advisors weren’t universally happy with the choices she’d made but Lavellan didn’t believe such a thing was possible, contenting herself with having at least avoided open warfare - and gaining a powerful ally in Briala. 

Besides which, their disappointment was a dim memory as she lounged in a large copper tub, sunk to her chin in warm, soapy water. 

“You are pleased with the evening’s outcome.”

Solas entered from the adjacent room - a servant’s chamber, befitting the lie they’d had to tell the Orlesian court. He was no longer dressed in his uniform, clad instead in his usual tunic and breeches, and had thankfully abandoned his ridiculous hat. 

“I’m pleased nobody else had to die,” she corrected. As a hunter in her clan, Lavellan had grown used to death - but not at the scale the Inquisition demanded. She still struggled with it. 

Solas crossed to her and then behind her, kneeling to run his fingers from her temples to her crown, carefully loosening her hair from its thick braid.

“Justice was served,” he murmured, his nails on her scalp so divine she could ignore the undertone of his words: _for now_. Lavellan arched her back, neck against the tub’s rim, providing him greater access. The motion exposed her chest a moment above the water’s surface, nipples tightening at the contrast between warm water and cool air. 

Once he’d unwound her braid Solas let her hair hang over the edge, brushing his knees as he stretched forward to kiss her neck, freed hands massaging from shoulder to collar bone to breast. The angle rendered her defenseless, unable to reciprocate his affections without breaking contact.

Which she had very little desire to do when one of his hands slipped lower.

Solas was gentle, at first, two fingers circling her clit, his opposite hand giving her breast a squeeze. Though her experiences before Solas had been limited, Lavellan always felt he was far more dexterous than a mage had any right to be. 

She lifted her hips, an invitation, and he worked her harder, deeper, faster, middle fingers beckoning, thumb stroking. When she couldn’t take it anymore she turned over in the water, suds splashing over the side as she reached for him. Lips and tongues and teeth met with a ferocity that spoke of every time they hadn’t been able to, watching each other over the gulf of propriety between them that evening. Lavellan dreamed of a world without Orlesian civility-that-wasn’t, of the freedom to love openly who she wished, when she wished. She didn’t want Corypheus’ world but there were times she didn’t want this one, either.

She often begged Solas to show her Elvhenan, in dreams.

She begged him to show her everything. 

Lavellan climbed out of the tub an he wrapped a towel about her shoulders even as he went on kissing her, as she made quick work of his breeches. He was hard, the head of his cock slick. The bed was steps away but not close enough. Solas hitched his hands underneath of her ass, propping her against the tub’s edge as he rubbed himself between her legs. Lavellan groaned, leaning into him, refusing to plead even as she bit the taut muscle between his shoulder and his neck. Solas hissed in pain and pinched her hip. Still he refused to enter her, maddeningly close, touching and teasing until she was keening with want.

Solas carried her to the bed then, laying her out on her back, gaze ravenous, appraising. She grinned, limp and slow.

“How many lovers have you witnessed in the Fade, Solas? Or are there not voyeurs among the spirits?”

His smile was a dark, knowing thing as he climbed onto the bed, hitched one of her legs over his shoulder.

“There are some among the spirits who reflect only carnal pleasure,” he admitted, lips trailing from her ankle to her knee, tongue lavishing the hollow there. “But I’ve never seen anything like you, vhenan. You are unique.”

Lavellan rolled her head back, pleased, allowing him whatever claim on her body he wished. Let him use his teeth, his hands, his hips, his dick. She was his most openly when stripped of armor and spent. She thought she would be his forever, if she lived to see it. 

When Lavellan met Solas’ eyes again they begged her consent. She could only nod, whimpering, as his hand moved to grip her neck, holding her still as he drove deeper. Lavellan was a wax figure in his hands, molten, pliable. His other hand snaked to her belly, fingers finding a feverish rhythm against her clit. She screamed, an animal moan, turning her face into the luscious silk coverlet. 

Solas released her, bending forward to kiss her, tongue as skillful and quick at this as it was when they spoke of the Fade, of the future. Lavellan opened her eyes, throat raw, and he smirked at her.

“What did I tell you?”

His voice was a growl, low and sweet and certain as he slid into her and out again, eyes fluttering as he neared his own climax.

“You’re a wolf.”


End file.
